Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Nancy is tired.

She’s tired of carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’s tired of stretching herself thin for everyone around her. She’s tired of being a coward. And, lastly, she’s tired of not only lying to herself, but also to everyone else.

She sits at her desk for the umpteenth day in a row because she’s avoiding her family. She’s avoiding them because it makes her feel like an imposter. She’s avoiding them because she is not herself when she’s with them.

And yet, her office is nothing but a mausoleum to them. Their pictures are everywhere, so many little brown eyes staring at her no matter where she tries to escape from them. It makes her want to hide under her desk because she doesn’t want to stand trial every day of her life. She doesn’t want to feel so mocked by the children she dares every day to be proud of who they are. She doesn’t want to keep feeling like a stranger to herself.

Caleb and Delilah have those familiar eyes, the ones that belong to the man she faces every day. The man who smiles but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes. She’s sure that he’s noticed something is off with her, something doesn’t feel right beneath her fucking skin.

She twists the wedding ring on her finger - twists and twists until it comes right off. Her finger doesn’t even have a tan line and she can’t tell if it’s from all of the time spent indoors or if it’s because she dedicates at least 4 hours a day to taking the thing off and putting it back on. It’s been that way for almost 5 years, the day her finger was supposed to become the ring’s resting place.

It isn’t that she doesn’t love Steve, because she does. She just isn’t in love with him. She doesn’t even know if she ever really was or if he was just a cover for all of the horrible things about her. Turn out; a visit to a completely different plane didn’t alter the core of who she actually is.

She owes herself, she knows, to fight for herself as hard as she fought for everyone else she has ever loved. All she needs to do is grasp on to the courage, she stores it right there in her office desk, right before leaving, before heading home so she can be more honest than she ever has been. Tonight is the night. She’s vowing it to herself right now.

She leaves the ring off, shoving it into her oversized bag where her keys are buried. She leaves before she falters, before she can betray herself once again, digging through her purse along the way. She drives home in her really nice car that her very considerate husband provided for her, towards that 5 bedroom house they really don’t need. But Steve had insisted. On both things. Because he likes to live a lavish life just because he can since his parents left him all of that money

And, when she parks her car in the driveway, she doesn’t hesitate in getting out because if she hesitates then she’s going to betray herself. She opens the door without caution but with care, and is relieved to find her husband in the kitchen but the two children they share not within eye shot of the door. It’ll be easier to do this without them present.

“Hey, Nance,” he tells her as she enters the kitchen, “Work ok?”

“We need to talk,” she says, saliva thick in her mouth.

“Yeah, ok,” he says.

“Where are the kids?” She asks, just to be sure.

“They’re upstairs playing in their rooms,” he says., “What’s going on?”

“Steve,” she says, pauses to sigh. She sets her bag down on a stool, a kitchen island between them. Because the space makes it easier, like she can breathe now. She doesn’t look at him, not right away. She clears her throat and says, “I’ve been lying to you.”

“What?” He says, voice sharp. Out of the top of her view, she sees him abandon his seasoning of the steaks. He’s been talking about this all week, grilling steaks outside because it’s nice out and it’s staring to get cold outside. She’s ruining his excitement. “What do you mean?”

“Not just you,” she says, gaze flitting upward but she’s still unable to hold eye contact with him, “But myself. And everyone.”

“Nancy,” he says, voice in that low warning tone.

“No, just let me say it,” she says, summoning her spine and locking eyes with his brown ones, “I need to say it.”

“I can’t do this,” he says, stepping backward.

“Please just listen to me,” she replies, pleading with him now, “I have to say it or I’ll just…”

“Just what, Nancy?” He asks.

“Steve,” she says, moving around the island. She lays her hands on his wrists, pressing against the bony parts that connect his arm to his hand. She feels fucking terrible, like she’s ruining both of their lives. “I’m-“

She cuts herself off, mouth not prepared to say the words. They stare at each other, and she tries to say the words to him telepathically. Maybe they have some sort of cosmic connection that’ll make this easier. He swallows, throat bobbing, and he nods gently.

“I’m a lesbian,” she says, voice firm and not at all shaky. She slides her hands up to his elbows and moves them back passed his wrists to his hands. His gaze softens as she curls her hands around his. “I’m so sorry, honey. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Oh, Nance,” he says so softly that it sounds like a breath. He squeezes her hands. His grasp is firm and warm, a kindness that feels like a slap in the face because it’s more than she deserves. “It’s ok, babe.”

He slides his arms around her shoulders and pulls her into him. She gives in, burying her face in his chest. She inhales his familiar scent - cinnamon, citrus, musk, and nutmeg. When she breathes out, tears break from her eyes and slide down her face. It burns her cheeks. She uses his polo shirt to wipe her eyes.

He hums and says, “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it’s going to be ok. And I’m so proud of you.”

It only makes her cry harder.

🌈

It feels like they’re taking it one step at a time. They both manage to make everything seem ok to the kids over dinner. They even manage to hold it together while putting them to bed - first Delilah then Caleb. She expects the facade to drop, the kindness to turn into anger and the amicability between them to go away in a flash.

But it doesn’t.

As she steps down off of the last step, he’s getting 2 glasses out of the cabinet. Her curiosity peaks. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and wanders into the kitchen. He pours red wine into both of the glasses and pushes one towards her on the counter.

She closes the gap and grabs the glass, immediately taking a sip. It’s a bottle they opened days ago, corked and put into the refrigerator for later. They’ve been drinking half a glass every few days, for good health. It’s the latest thing they’ve been trying.

She guesses that all of the things they’ve been doing together is going to stop too.

She sets the glass down and avoids eye contact with her husband again. She doesn’t know how to look at him. She’s too afraid she might actually see hurt in them.

“We should probably talk about sleeping arrangements,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” she says, lifting her gaze to him, “I can move into the other bedroom.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, “The bathroom is smaller.”

“It’s my fault that this is happening,” she says.

“Hey,” he says, quickly abandoning his glass to hook a finger under her chin to demand her attention, “It is not your fault, ok? It’s who you are and you can’t change that. You tried your best and that’s more than enough.”

She doesn’t argue. She nods softly, reaching up to grab his hand and squeeze it tightly. She’ll never be able to thank him enough for this support. Even though he might be hurting, he’s still putting her first. She wishes she could love him in that way because he so deserves it.

A tear sneaks out of her eye and slides down her cheek; she says, “I’m going to start moving my things.”

Before he can say anything else, she’s turning on her heel and heading to their bedroom. She holds the tears in until she makes it to her side of the bed, furthest from the bedroom door and closest to the bathroom. She pulls open the drawer and looks inside, for anything to ground her and keep the tears at bay.

She comes up empty handed, not knowing what she’s looking for anyway. She sits on the bed and puts her face into her hands. She doesn’t know if she’s crying from guilt or because she’s relieved.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, mattress squeaking as the weight of him settles in beside her, “Tell me what you need, babe.”

“I don’t know,” she says, peeling her hands from her face. He leans forward and looks at her face, hand immediately coming up to her cheek and sweeping the tears away. It sort of feels like being stabbed, his kindness. “I just don’t understand why you’re not angrier with me.”

“Because you don’t mean to hurt me,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “And I want you to be happy. So happy, Nance. Even if it means you aren’t with me.”

“Steve?” She says. She feels lost all of a sudden; his words digging and spreading the reality of the situation through her. His hand smooths across her back, in that manner she knows he does with the kids when he’s showing them comfort. “Are we getting a divorce?”

“I think that’s sort of inevitable now,” he says.

“I don’t want things to change,” she replies.

“I know, sweetie,” he says. He’s so calming in all of the ways that she knows he speaks to their children. He’s a good dad - sweet and understanding in all of those moments that really matter. He’s the man she always thought he could be. “But they have to change. It’s going to be a difficult adjustment, but we’ll figure it out. Or, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“Can we just not be in a rush?” She asks, “For the kids.”

“One day at a time, Nance,” he says, “Isn’t that what they always say?”

She nods in silent agreement, the tears dried now. She doesn’t know what to say to him. Perhaps tomorrow she’ll know. Perhaps tomorrow she will come to terms with the fact that being a lesbian means she will have to divorce her husband, but for today she lives in her truth that she is who she is.

She looks down, at her hands, where her wedding ring was when she woke up this morning but where it isn’t now. He hasn’t asked about it. He hasn’t taken a moment to think about himself, not since she told him, and that makes her feel terrible for not being able to make herself be in love with him.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she says, voice rough and throat tight, “I wouldn’t blame you for hating me.”

“I could never hate you,” he says.

And yet, she pushes to her feet and pushes out of his grasp. His hands slip from her and she feels like a monster. If she hadn’t tried to ignore this thing about her she would never hurt him like this. If she hadn’t tried then she wouldn’t have Caleb and Delilah to love. He’s given her everything she could love and she wouldn’t really have it any other way.

She goes to the closet, not sure what else to do, and grabs a handful of hangers. She folds the stack of clothes over her arm, black bleeding into blue and fading into purple, and holds them to her chest. She wills herself not to look at Steve and rushes out of the room.

The other bedroom is across the house nearest to the garage. It isn’t used too often. Just when they have the rare guest over. She really doesn’t even know why Steve insisted on getting this house, with the 3.5 baths, but, right now, she feels a little grateful for it.

She drops her arms full of clothing on the bed, a duvet she picked out because she did end up getting to make some decisions in their marriage. She discovered over the years that she is much better at compromise when she doesn’t care as much about things. Not to mention, that things are spectacularly less important since surviving the upside down and Henry’s torture.

It doesn’t always mean that she sleeps easily at night. Not even with Steve beside her. Also not necessarily with his protective arms around her. What helps her sleep just a little easier is the gun in her nightstand. That reminds her, she needs to bring that over to her new bedroom.

“You know who you should talk to?” Steve says from behind her, loud like she expects him to follow. She doesn’t though so the sound of his voice makes her jump where she stands. She absently thinks it’s a good idea she didn’t bring her gun over on the first trip. He exhales audibly as he sets a pile of clothes down beside hers and says, “Robin.”

“Why?” She says, face twisting, “Because she’s gay?”

“Not like that,” he says quickly.

“Besides, she’s your best friend. Why would I want to talk to her about all of this?” She asks.

“Because she’s gay,” he says, smiling sheepishly, “I just mean that she can give you guidance.”

“I don’t need a fairy gay-mother,” she says, scoffing, “I came to the conclusion that I’m gay on my own. I also came out to my husband without anybody’s help.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Nance?” He asks, voice softer now as he broaches the subject.

“You wouldn’t get it,” she says, “It’s more of a personal thing.”

“I know, believe me, I know,” he says in a breath, “But if you had any kind of indication, you never said anything.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” she replies, “And you know me, I don’t always like to talk about something until I’ve totally figured it out.”

“So you had an idea,” he says, shoulders slumping whether he means them to or not.

“I didn’t want to blow up our family unless I was one hundred percent sure,” she says with a sigh.

He leaves it at that, heading out of her temporary bedroom.

🌈

He doesn’t exactly leave it at that.

For the next few days, he mentions Robin to her even more than usual. Which is saying something because he talks about her quite a bit considering they see each other every day. Always coworkers and best friends.

Despite mentioning Robin a little more often, their life feels virtually the same. She goes to work and home to her husband making dinner for her and their kids. They put their children to bed together just like normal. They spend a little time watching television in the living room while reading, writing, drinking wine, whatever. Then they tell each other goodnight and head to separate bedrooms.

She still hasn’t moved all of her stuff over beyond what they moved that night, and they still haven’t talked about where to go from here, but at least her gun is safely tucked away in the nightstand of the bland bedroom.

So on Saturday, when Steve takes Caleb and Delilah to basketball practice at the recreation center, she ties her hair up into a ponytail and starts packing things into boxes. She doesn’t have very many since she isn’t going very far but they wouldn’t be the worst to hang on to since she will have to move out eventually.

As she’s shoving stuff onto one of her 8 boxes, she thinks about the kind of house she’ll have to find. Probably a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom on her silly little The Hawkins Post salary. She’ll have to break the news to her mother and, when she asks why, she’ll either have to tell her mom the truth or lie to her.

She doesn’t know if she would rather tell the truth or -

There’s a knock on the door that breaks her train of thought. Her focus goes to shit as she stands up and abandons her box of random things from the bathroom - jewelry, soaps, hair products, face cleaner, other things. She makes her way down the hallway, through the house, taking note of all of the things she needs to clean.

She opens the door to reveal a sight for sore eyes. She breathes a sigh of relief, a familiar face standing on the other side. She hasn’t seen Robin in weeks and she finds herself looking the woman up and down.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Robin replies, “Are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” she answers.

“Good,” Robin says, “Come ‘ere, Wheeler.”

Robin opens her arms wide and motions her forward, the nickname an old use that’ll never die despite her last name change. She smiles and steps forward, circling her own arms around the woman’s torso. Robin tilts her chin upward as hands slide across her back, a warmth spreading between them. Robin’s hugs are always next level, like a mattress so comfortable that sleep is inevitable.

Although Robin is technically Steve’s best friend, they’ve always had a certain something. A connection of sorts. Or an understanding. They’ve always had an unspoken language between them, consistently on similar pages even if maybe looking at different books.

“Did Steve tell you?” She asks, pressing her face into Robin’s shirt. She can feel the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, the sting in them so strong that she has to blink. When she does that, the blur clears but only for a brief moment. “Tell me the truth. Was he upset?”

“He’ll be fine,” Robin says, pulling back and looking down at her with a gentle smile that soothes her to her core, “He just wants you to be happy.”

“It’s so unfair,” she says with a sigh, Robin’s hands on her shoulders now, “He’s being so supportive.”

“I warmed him up for you,” Robin says with a grin.

“Yeah but,” she starts. She steps backward into the house. Robin follows her dutifully, shutting the door behind them. “Why can’t he be mad at me? We’re imploding because of me.”

“Come on, kid,” Robin says, in that positive tone that gets them all through the hard times, “If he were mad at you, he just wouldn’t be the man you married.”

“I know,” she says, relenting.

She looks around, taking in their house and the place they’ve made their own. There’s pictures of their family when the kids were much younger that they took at JCPenny, pictures of them when they were babies, and pictures of her and Steve with Robin before the kids were born. She sweeps a hand across her face and finally places her palms against her back on either side.

“I know he’s a good guy,” she continues, “He deserves better. More. More than I could give him.”

“Nance,” Robin says, taking a half a step forward to close the space between them, “Did you know at all that maybe this life isn’t what you wanted?”

“No,” she says, quick with a lilt of defense. She breathes in and out, looking down at the floor. She feels caught in a lie because she had to know something if she ended up flipping her entire life upside down like this. How many more ways can her life experience the upside down? “I mean, yes, of course I thought that sometimes every once in awhile, but didn’t you?”

“I do sometimes, yes,” Robin says. The woman, her husband’s best friend, her friend, sighs. She watches as Robin pushes a hand through blonde hair, the locks settling back into place like it had never been touched. Robin’s hair looks good but, then again, it always looks good whether shorter to just above her chin or longer, down to her shoulders like it is now. “I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to go through a sexuality crisis alone.”

“I wouldn’t call it a crisis,” she says, laughing at the absurdity of having a crisis at her age.

“Then…?” Robin asks, the question silently being filled in.

“Something just clicked, Robin,” she says, looking up at those blue eyes, “It was one day in June, I was sitting at my desk, looking at that picture of Steve with Caleb, you know the one?”

Robin nods in confirmation, mouth twisting in apprehension already.

“And I couldn’t help wondering why I’m not in love with him. He’s a good dad, a fantastic dad, makes me look like a shitty parent,” she continues, “And he’s a nice guy, real genuine, reliable. So I thought what’s wrong with me?”

“Nance,” Robin says, like she can’t breathe, tilting her head, “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“I started,” she stops because her throat is tight and the tears threaten again, “I started thinking about Barb and the night she went missing.”

“Oh,” Robin says so quietly that it almost sneaks by her ears.

The tears do fall, quick and quiet because thinking about Barb always stings right there in her heart. She shakes her head. The pity on her friend’s face isn’t like the pity that other’s have.

“I really loved her,” she says, “And I didn’t know at the time what that could mean. Hell, I don’t even know now that it means anything. But it means something.”

Robin’s gaze is attentive , listening to her. She can see the wheels turning in the blonde’s head which is only confirmed when the woman clears her throat. Robin says, “Nancy, are you attracted to women?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” she scoffs.

“It’s a simple question,” Robin says with huff, “You had a Tom Cruise poster in your room so forgive me for asking.”

“I’m married,” Nancy says, “I haven’t exactly been in a position to act on my attraction.”

“So you are,” Robin says, “Attracted to women.”

“That’s what being a lesbian means,” she says, glaring.

Robin lifts her hands in the air between them in surrender and says, “Hey, you don’t have to tell me what being a lesbian means. Jodi Foster makes me horny.”

“Thank you for that information,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“No, what I’m saying is,” Robin replies, “I never had a poster of Tom Cruise hanging on my bedroom wall and I’ve kissed girls, a lot of girls, sometimes because we’re watching a movie with Jodie Foster in it and sometimes because the woman is really attractive. I’m attracted to women. Very attracted to women.”

“I’m attracted to women,” Nancy says, voice a low growl.

“Name one woman you’re attracted to,” Robin says, eyebrows furrowing.

She thinks about it for a minute, probably a minute too long, and says, “Grace Howard.”

“The, um, the woman that works at the news station?” Robin asks, lips slightly parting.

“Yes!” She says, “We run into each other sometimes when we’re breaking a story at the same time.”

“Wow,” Robin says, “Does she flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, “And I don’t have time to fixate on every interaction I’ve had with this woman. I have too much shit going on.”

“Fine, there’s always later,” Robin says, dropping it.

“Since you’re here,” she says, “Do you mind helping me carry my cedar chest to my bedroom?”

“Moving, huh?” Robin says.

“It’s just temporary,” Nancy replies, “We haven’t had a chance to talk about how we’re going to go forward.”

“You don’t have to be in a rush,” Robin says, “You have the rest of your life to kiss a woman.”

“Who says I haven’t kissed a woman?” She says, gaze tightening. Mostly because she’s good at sticking to her guns. The side she’s defending is that she is, in fact, attracted to woman which isn’t something she should have to defend. She should be able to say she’s a lesbian without all of the evidence.

“Sure, Nance,” Robin says, in a there there voice, “I’m sure you’ve kissed a woman.”

“Uh, you were there,” she replies, scoffing, “I can’t believe you don’t remember. After Jonathan and I broke up. You told me that you’re gay and to show you my undying support we went to that one lesbian bar in Chicago. We lost each other for about an hour?”

“No way,” Robin says, “I was so drunk that night that I have no memory at all.”

“When you found me again, you pulled that woman off of me so fast she thought you were my girlfriend,” Nancy reminds Robin. She drove them back to the hotel so she didn’t drink as much. It was a little getaway they had, just the two of them. It was the last thing they did just the two of them, really. “It was eight years ago so it doesn’t really matter, but today is the first day of the rest of my life.”

“Interesting,” Robin replies.

“Why is that interesting?” She says, jaw tightening.

“Because that’s such a positive attitude, especially for you,” Robin says.

“Heyyyy,” she screeches.

She slaps Robin on the arm. It isn’t hard. It’s a playful sort of thing that has the woman grinning back at her instantly. Then, Robin is poking her in the side. She curls her body away from the other woman, but reaches out to swat at Robin’s wrist. Robin swats back. Quickly, they’re both reaching for the other’s forearms and trying to grab them while also trying to avoid the touch. Laughter settles between them, silly little giggles that reminds her of the childlike innocence she once felt.

They both dissolve into more carefree versions of themselves.

She feels sparks shoot out around them, like two pieces of metal being fused together.

A feeling she never felt with her husband…

🌈

Her cedar chest gets moved and she thinks about that interaction until her children run into the house, throwing their arms around her. Those sparks disappear, no longer illuminating the feeling she hasn’t felt since she was 15 years old. The one she had before she lost her virginity to Steve while Barb was being taken into another realm.

She doesn’t think about it often because it doesn’t do any good. She lived and she has to keep living that life. It isn’t Steve’s fault that it happened and it isn’t hers either. It took a conversation with her little brother to really get it through her thick, Wheeler skull.

She saw Barb in her dreams for a week after that. She was painted golden beneath the rays of the sun - beautiful and happy. It was a comfort that, even though her best friend is no longer with her, she hadn’t suffered so much. She also didn’t have to live with the old haunting of the Creel house down the street being turned into some sort of museum to the disaster.

It was their choice to stay.

It was also her choice to keep buying guns and having them within reach at night.

On the following Saturday she tucks her gun away in her purse while Steve takes Caleb and Delilah to the recreation center. She drives to Sam’s Shooting Range with it in the passenger seat. It doesn’t seem to burn a hole in her purse and it doesn’t seem to haunt her like everything else. It does, however, give her back her power.

At the shooting range, she regains her control. She fires two clips into the center of the black cut out’s head and she doesn’t think about Barb, the sparks she felt against her skin, or the fact that she has a husband at home to sort out. When she finishes there, she smiles at Sam and stops by the grocery store on the way home.

That night, after the kids are tucked away and sound asleep in their beds upstairs, she sits on the couch opposite of Steve. It has been eating at her all day, probably all week too, that feeling of stagnancy regarding everything.

She bursts.

“Are you ok with all of this, Steve?” She asks.

“All of what?” He says slowly.

“Me moving into the other bedroom,” she says, only clutching the newspaper in her hands tight enough that it crinkles.

“Where else would you go?” He says with a laugh.

“Somewhere,” she says, shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Just because you don’t want to be with me doesn’t mean that I hate you,” he says.

“I know that,” she says. She looks down and reads the headline of an article - Breaking Ground On Hawkins High’s New Gymnasium. She doesn’t need to read it. She’s the editor-in-chief. She picked the article. She sighs. “It isn’t that I don’t want to want to be with you either. I want to, believe me, but I’m just not me being your wife.”

“Nancy,” he says, an annoyed sigh slipping out of his mouth, “I’m trying to be understanding, but that doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”

“I know you’re hurting-“

“Then why do you keep pushing me?” He interrupts.

“Because,” she snaps back, “You aren’t talking to me about how you feel or what you want. Where the hell do we go from here?”

His eyes widen and he crosses his arms over his chest, the international sign for Steve Harrington closing himself off; he says, “Where the hell do you want to go, Nance? You sprung this all on me and I’m trying really hard to be adaptable about it all. This is pretty new territory for us both, you know?”

“Maybe I should just go,” she grumbles.

She presses the paper onto the couch and pushes up, sliding her feet out to storm off. She grabs her purse off of the stool at the kitchen island and puts her shoes on by the garage door before shutting the door behind her all the while ignoring Steve’s quiet protests.

Any time that they’ve ever argued it’s been quiet so as not to disturb the children. They’ve never argued like this. Their arguments are usually wrapped up in a cute little bow with a simple compromise, typically on Steve’s part, but they’ve never navigated an argument like this. This is one unlike any other that they’ve had.

She unlocks her car and starts it before she even takes a breath. Part of her is telling her to go back inside, but the other part is telling her that she needs to get out of the house for just a night. She’s over playing happy family when she doesn’t feel like herself. She shuts the garage door and pulls out onto the street.

When she knocks on a door half an hour later, Robin pulls it open. She pulled into the woman’s apartment complex and drove around 20 minutes before deciding to just knock. She’s sure it’s some kind of betrayal to show up at her husband’s best friend’s apartment after a fight with him. They just have something very specific in common.

“Not the Harrington I was expecting to see,” Robin says, smile splitting her face.

“How do I get through to him?” She asks, charging into Robin’s apartment.

“Please, come in,” the blonde mumbles.

“He’s just so hard headed,” she continues. Robin turns to face her, shutting the door and leaning back against it. She hesitates for the briefest of seconds, wondering if Robin is the right person to talk about this. Robin is probably the only person she can talk to about the, actually. “Every time I try to talk to him about what happens next, he gets upset. I know that I’m hurting him, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“This is all kind of unprecedented,” Robin says, perching one foot on the other, “I think expecting any sort of particular outcome from either of you is impossible.”

“I know,” she says, huffs and slams herself down on Robin’s couch, “I know. But since I came out to him it’s all been so stagnant. The only thing that’s any different is me sleeping in the other bedroom.”

“I heard,” Robin says. The blonde pushes off of the door and comes around the coffee table to sit on the couch next to her. The way Robin sits is so different than her, one leg beneath her with the other foot propped up on the table. “And I’m sure it isn’t easy for either of you.”

“I thought it would be harder,” she admits.

“What would be?” Robin asks, leaning back against the void but tilting her head to look at her inquisitively.

“Going to sleep at night and him not be there,” she says, “Like, I thought I would miss him breathing next to me. It doesn’t feel like we are transitioning from being married to being co-parents or friends or…I don’t know what we’ll be. All I know is that I thought we were going slow for the kids. I mean, I don’t even know how to explain that their mommy and daddy are getting a divorce because their mommy is a lesbian.”

“Why’d you do that?” Robin says.

“Do what?” She replies.

“Say that you’re a lesbian with so much disdain,” Robin says, “It’s your life. It’s who you are.”

“You keep quizzing me like I have to present the evidence that I’m a lesbian,” she says.

“Sorry,” Robin says, holding her hands up, “I don’t mean to keep doing that. It’s just…”

“Just?” She prods.

“Kind of one of those have to see it to believe it sort of things,” Robin says, face contorting at her own words, “I’m sorry, dude. That sounds really bad.”

“Yeah, it is really bad,” she says, “But I get it. Steve said I sprung this on him.”

“Nance,” Robin says softly, hand finding her wrist. She gets a chill before she looks at it’s owner. Blue eyes pierce hers in a way that she can’t explain. “I’ve noticed some things over the last few months and I just chalked it up to you guys being together for a long time. So you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Like what?” She asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“What have I noticed?” Robin says. The hand on her wrist moves. She holds her breath because, for just a brief second, she thinks Robin’s going to slide their hands together. Instead, the woman takes her hand back to her lap. She nods. “You’ve been shying away when Steve touches you. Not a lot. Barely enough to notice. I thought maybe you guys were fighting or…I don’t know what I thought.”

“Was there more?” She says.

“I thought you were checking me out once,” Robin says. The woman’s face blooms into a pinkish color as she shies away. The bangs fall into blue eyes, and her heart races at that. She couldn’t have been that obvious to check out another woman while with her husband. Before she can protest, Robin adds, “Next weekend? Let’s go out. I’ll show you all the cool gay spots in town.”

“Yeah, ok,” she says. Robin smiles brightly, teeth showing. Just 30 now, Nancy thinks she looks even more stylish than she did at 18. She thinks a lot of things about Robin. She swallows thickly and says, “Can I sleep on your couch tonight?”

“Sure thing, Wheeler,” Robin says, “Let me get you some clothes to sleep in.”

Robin gets her a pair of sweatpants and an old Fleetwood Mac t-shirt to sleep in.

In the middle of the night, she can’t sleep and wanders into Robin’s room. Silently, she slips beneath the sheets just like old times - back before Steve was around her all of the time. They used to stay up all night laughing, talking, and even sometimes crying.

Neither of them bring it up.

🌈

She talks to herself about it though. Silently, everywhere she goes for the next few days. She thinks about how they were very careful not to touch each other. Not even their feet. Back before she knew Robin is a lesbian, their limbs would brush under the sheets and the woman would blush and apologize.

She stopped apologizing after coming out to Nancy.

Throughout the week, she doesn’t think about sparks or Robin or what it was like to feel 19 again in the comfort of her friend. She thinks about moving on with her life - learning how to balance being a working woman, a mother, and dating. She thinks about Steve and how he’s dealing with all of this, accepting of her but disinterested in having the difficult conversations.

Part of her wonders if he expects them all to live in the house like this until Delilah turns 18 and goes off to college, if she decides to. Of course, she doesn’t expect her children to go to college. The only thing she expects of them is to try their best.

She’s thinking about this while sitting in the bathtub of her new bathroom, lights down low and candles lit. It’s nice and relaxing. The only thing missing is music or something.

But music would drown out the quiet and soft, “Mommy?”

She opens her eyes and sees Delilah standing there in her pajamas. They have Buttercup on them because that's Delilah’s favorite Powerpuff Girl. The little girl went to bed hours ago. Even fell asleep before her very eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She murmurs, sitting upright and reaching out. Water falls off of her, droplets flying off of her hand as she presses the wet thing to the kid’s forehead. Delilah recoils but only slightly.

“Bad dream,” Delilah says, “It woke me up.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, “Let me get dressed ok?”

Delilah nods. She pulls the plug on the bathtub and the water starts draining. She stands up and reaches for a towel to dry herself off. Once dry enough, she grabs the robe and pulls it on before lowering down to the ground.

Putting her hands on the little girl’s sides, she says, “What was your bad dream about?”

“I don't member, but it was scary,” Delilah says, “Can I sleep with you?”

She relents, lifting a hand to the little girl’s forehead and pushing hair off of it. She does really love her kids, even if she isn’t the best at showing it. She’s proud of them for being so sweet and thoughtful. They’ve never been told by people at school or daycare that they’re difficult kids. That’s mostly thanks to Steve, she feels.

“Yeah, you can sleep with me,” she says, “Go get into bed and I’ll be right there.”

She finds actual pajamas to wear instead of just her robe. She brushes her teeth and makes her way into the bedroom. She has a dresser, 2 nightstands, her cedar chest, and a bookshelf. She’s thought about getting a chair but she doesn’t want to add anything to the bedroom until they decide what they’re going to do.

When she climbs into the side of the bed furthest from the door, Delilah scoots into her from the middle of the bed. The little girl clings to her, hands fisting the front of her shirt, and buries that little face into her chest. The golden strands on the girl's head reminds her of when Holly was little. She's pretty sure that she also had blonde hair until the brunette grew in around 10 years old. She brushes her fingers through her daughter's hair, lulling her into a comfort and trying to silently ward away the scarry images.

"Mommy?" Delilah says again.

"Yes, baby?" She quietly replies.

"Why are you sleeping in this bedroom?" Delilah asks in her little voice.

"Your daddy and I," she starts, not really ready to tell her daughter the unforbidden truth about herself, "We're just going through some stuff and we're trying to work it out."

"Oh," Delilah says, "Is Daddy mad at you?"

"Not really," she says.

"I don't like when Daddy's mad at me," Delilah says, "It makes me sad."

"Daddy could never be mad at you," Nancy says, "He loves you so, so, so, so much."

"Are you mad at Daddy?" Delilah asks next.

"I'm not mad at Daddy," she says, "He didn't do anything wrong."

"Ok," Delilah says. The voice is soft and it sends a certain kind of chill down her spine. She can hear the fear and pain in it. She used to hear it all those years ago when Max was terrified she was going to die. Losing Max had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. "Spencer from my class said that his parents hate each other. They won't even be in the same room."

"I don't think that's ever going to happen with me and your daddy," she says.

"But are you going to get a dorce?" Delilah asks.

"Oh, honey," she says softly. Tears prick her eyes. Nobody could ever know that their parents getting a divorce doesn't mean the end of the world. And the truth is, she doesn't want this to negatively impact her children. It certainly isn't enougn to pretend they're happy together, but it isn't enough to keep her around no matter what. She swallows and says, "We're always going to love you, I'm always going to love you, no matter what happens between me and your daddy. That's never going to change."

"Spencer's daddy went to live somewhere else," Delilah says, "And he says now he never gets to see his daddy."

"Well, that isn't going to happen to you because Daddy isn't going anywhere," she says, "We're all going to stay right here, ok, sweetie?"

"Ok," Delilah says.

"Now, go back to sleep, baby," she says, pressing a kiss to the little girl's forehead, "I'm going to keep you safe from the bad dreams."

Delilah slowly lulls back to sleep, grasp releasing from her shirt. She listens to her daughter's breathing and, as she does, thinks about the fact that she doesn't want to leave her daughter's side. She always wants to be accessible even if it's right here, with them all in the same house.

After she drops Caleb and Delilah off at school the next morning, she can't stop thinking about the conversation that her and Steve need to have. She needs to talk to him about how she feels and about what she wants, despite his avoidance of it. It’s getting to the point that the way he feels and what he wants is less important to her, despite the fact they’ve only been separated almost 3 weeks. This is a thing about herself she’s lived with for the last 4 months.

She waves goodbye to her kids and stops at the coffee shop for the largest latte they have in the menu. It's going to be a hard day with lots of articles to paruse over before they go to production. On top of that, she's determined to get whatever is going on with Steve more settled. He's been perfectly fine all week, not acting like there's any tension or anything at all between them, but he hasn't been open to having the much needed conversation.

She calls the school and punches in his extension. He answers the phone, slightly distracted, and she asks him about lunch. He sighs and says that it would be fine for her to come up there for them to have lunch together.

When she parks outside of the high school, she stares at it. She doesn't come up here often and certainly not unless Steve asks her to. for some work thing. Which isn't often.

She makes her way down the hall with lunch for them both, the sack of Chinese food bouncing with every step she takes. The hallways are clear, right before the bell for the student’s lunch releases. She still remembers the time of day it went off like clockwork after the amount of time she spent here.

She opens his door and holds the bag of food up for him to see before she enters. She smiles because they are friendly, still each other’s confident, despite going through this crazy unprecedented thing. He smiles back and takes the food from her.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m surprised you wanted to have lunch.”

“I do have ulterior motives,” she admits, sitting in the chair across from him.

“I figured,” he replies, not even sighing a little bit.

He opens the top of one and notices it’s what she always orders, immediately pushing it over to in front of her. She takes a pair of chopsticks, always her preference where Steve’s is a fork, and starts digging in. Quiet surrounds them, the heaviness on her shoulders because she’s tired of getting upset about this.

She keeps pushing the food around before sighing, and saying, “I don’t want to leave. I know it might get awkward and uncomfortable with the impending divorce and everything. I do want to start living my life. But I don’t want to be away from my kids.”

“Are you, um,” he stops to clear his throat, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Why? Do you want me to leave?” She asks.

“No,” he replies, so quickly she almost doesn’t believe him, “I think it’s best for the kids if you stick around. I don’t even want to think about custody disagreements.”

“No,” she says, exhaling slowly, “Me neither.””

“But,” he says, but stops.

“But,” she urges. He shakes his head, his question dying between them. She wants to hear his thoughts because it’ll be the first step to figuring things out. “I want to know how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking, Steve. It’s the only way we make it over this bump.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to feel if you bring somebody home,” he says.

“I would not bring someone for a hookup to the house that my kids live in. That would be irresponsible,” she says, scoffing and laughing at the same time, “Will it be harder to move on with me in the house?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, “I accept the reason we can’t be together, but I really love you, Nance.”

“I really love you, Steve,” she says, still pushing her food around in the container, “I wish that things were different, but I think that, eventually, we’ll be ok.”

“We’re ok, Nancy,” he says, “I want you to live your life, explore who you are and be happy. I want all of those things for you. Just, give me some time to get used to it.”

“I’m trying,” she says.

“Good,” he replies, “So, Robin said you’re going out tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, we are,” she says, “Is that ok?”

“That’s ok,” he says, smiling.

She doesn’t bring up her conversation with their 4 year old daughter.

🌈

In the morning, she goes with Steve to the recreation center to cheer her kids on. Turns out, Robin also makes an appearance and the 3 of them sit together and support them louder than any other group of people in the room. She knows it’s because everyone else in the room didn’t bond together during the most traumatic thing this town has ever seen.

Afterwards, they go out for ice cream, the 5 of them. She doesn’t feel a sliver of jealousy when her husband and his best friend get into a childlike shoving match that leads to him chasing her down the sidewalk. Robin is much faster than him. Especially since she took up running as a New Year’s resolution 3 years ago.

Then they all go their separate ways. She tells Robin that she’ll see her later then loads the kids up in her car as the two best friends go do whatever it is they like to do when they hang out. Steve even drives Robin’s car out of the parking lot.

Anyone who doesn’t know them always thinks that Steve and Robin are having an affair.  Especially considering the evidence in that corner.  Steve picks her up on the way to work every morning, rendering her car mostly useless.  But they enjoy commuting together and that's when they talk to each other the most.

She’s laughed about the accusation many times over the years.

When they get home, Caleb jumps right out and runs inside. She unhooks Delilah from her seat and watches her go inside too. She cleans up the back of the car before she goes inside of the house. She stops in her bedroom and sets her purse down.

In the living room, Caleb has turned the television on and is watching the Disney Channel. She joins him on the couch, sitting next to him where she usually sits. It doesn’t take long before he’s moving to her side and cuddling her. She breathes a sigh of relief. If he suspect anything about her and Steve, he hasn’t said anything. She is a little worried about going into more detail about what’s going on with the kids.

Later in the day, Steve gets home. She goes to get ready for her evening out with Robin. She’s also nervous about that. This is the first time in her entire life that she’ll get to be her true self completely. It’s a haunting sort of feeling, but she still picks out her best dress and the perfect pair of shoes.

She knocks on Robin’s apartment door and waits for the other woman to answer. She isn’t waiting long before the door opens. Robin isn’t nearly as dressed up as she is in a pair of green slacks and a black button up shirt that has the top 2 buttons undone.

“Wow,” Robin says, “You went all out.”

“Too much?” She asks, looking down her front at her appearance.

“No, no,” Robin says “I just don’t think I’ve seen that dress ever. Is it new?”

“Not really,” she says, “But I don’t really have an opportunity to wear it. Don’t necessarily get out much. Not with the husband and kids.”

“Right,” Robin says, “I’m ready. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she replies.

Robin closes the front door behind herself and follows her to the parking lot. They get to her car and Robin opens the door to the passenger side, sliding in. She starts the car and the music starts playing at a low volume through the speakers.

“Maybe don’t,” Robin says as she puts the car in reverse, “Mention the husband thing.”

“I want to be transparent about my relationship status,” Nancy says, “And, for the record, we’re separated. In case he hasn’t told you.”

“I gathered that,” Robin says, “But he’s going through all the stages of grief and he might be sitting at the denial stage.”

“We talked about it yesterday,” she says, “I figured he told you. He tells you everything.”

“He said you came by for lunch,” Robin says, “In fact, he gave me the food you didn’t eat. It looked like you just pushed food around for half an hour.”

“Maybe,” she replies. Her face feels warm from being caught. That’s the kind of thing that Steve would never notice. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the time because she was too worried about the conversation and how that would go. “Anyways, he said he was at the acceptance stage.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Robin counters, “He means he accepts that you’re a lesbian and the relationship is over for that reason, not that he accepts you aren’t going to be his wife.”

“That makes zero sense,” she says with a huff., “I’m not going to fight with you about what’s happening with my marriage.”

“I’m not fighting with you,” Robin says, smirking under the glow of the light in the parking lot.

“Steve and I are getting a divorce,” she says forcefully, “And if you’re just going to be team Steve and leave me in the cold then it’s whatever.”

“I’m not,” Robin says, smirk wiping off of her face as she snaps. The woman is breathing hard for just a moment. She can only grip the gear shift tightly in her hand. Slowly, a hand slides over her wrist, curling around it like some kind of apology. Then, more softly, Robin says, “I’m not team Steve and I’m not leaving you in the cold. I can’t freeze out one of my own like that. And we’ve been through hell and back, Wheeler. I would be lost without you.”

“You would?” She asks after Robin’s ramble is over.

“Yeah I would,” Robin says, “You’re the one who held my hand. Always. You get me in ways that Steve never will. I need both of you in my life and that isn’t changing just because you guys are splitting up.”

“Promise?” She says.

“I promise,” Robin says with a smile. After that, her wrist is released. She does think about those times that she held Robin’s hand while they were in hell. She thinks about their lives being entwined. “Let’s get your night of emersion going.”

“My night of emersion?” She half screeches, that playful side coming out of the woodworks.

“You’re being initiated,” Robin says, straightening her spine like she's proud, “Hope you’re ready.”

She doesn’t know if she is, but she drives to the bar anyway knowing that it’s now or never. She’s never really been afraid of much. Besides, she rules the paper in this town so that cuts the fear in half. The other half is that people should be afraid of her, usually, but she left her gun at home in a safe in her new closet.

During the drive, Robin turns the radio up and sings along to the songs that play. She always manages to forget Robin has a beautiful singing voice. She’s sure that it’s a real hit with the ladies. She knows she doesn’t have a certain charming thing about her that will be on her side like that.

She enjoys listening to the music until they get to the little bar that Robin told her they were going to. The place’s parking lot is packed, which is sort of surprising to her considering Robin said this is explicitly a gay bar. She didn’t realize this many queer people were in town.

When they get out, she feels a chilly gust of wind catch in her hair and brush across her bare shoulders. She swallows, the music from inside slicing through that wind and pressing into her chest. It all seems to surround her and wrap her up in a warm glow. It only knocks the air out of her lungs when Robin steps behind her, places both hands on her shoulders, and squeezes.

“It’s so cool you’re here, Wheeler,” Robin says into her ear with excitement evident in her voice.

The woman’s breath is warm and overpowering, a much more important feature against her skin than any of the other things. A chill courses through her again, but it isn’t because of the cold wind or the loud music this time. It’s because Robin’s warm breath presses against her neck and lingers there, inconveniently becoming the only thing she can focus on.

The bouncer out front seems to recognize Robin and it becomes increasingly clear how frequent Robin may come to this bar. Or even how steadfast she might be in this gay community Nancy isn’t really part of. The one that Robin had referenced in the car by saying she was one of Robin’s own.

Inside, they wind through the people. Robin’s hand stays firm on her, hands sliding off of her shoulders but staying on her upper arm. Very quickly that hand smooths further down until that warm palm is pressed against her wrist.

“Robin!” A woman shouts from the bar. A group slowly turns towards them, giving Robin their full attention. She knew that the woman had charm, but this is surprising even to her. “Is this the new girlfriend?”

“New girlfriend?” Robin laughs and buries the scoff that only she hears, “No. This is Nancy.”

She gets stuck on the concept that Robin has a new girlfriend and doesn’t exactly hear her name being repeated. Robin has a new girlfriend? Her friend hasn’t said anything to her. Then again, she’s Steve’s best friend. Not hers.

“Steve’s wife,” Robin adds.

“I thought you told me not to tell people that,” she says, laughing slightly uncomfortably.

“But you wanted to be transparent,” Robin says with a shrug.

“We’re separated,” she reminds Robin and informs everyone else who is staring at them.

“So, you’re the Nancy?” A woman asks. It’s hard to tell how tall the woman is as they’re all sitting at a table near the bar top. And it’s hard to tell the shade of her skin with the lights down low. But she can tell the nameless woman is beautiful. “The one Robin always talks about.”

“I do not, Joann,” Robin says, a playful lilt to her voice, “Don’t make it sound like that. She’s my best friend.”

“I am?” She asks.

“One of,” Robin clarifies.

“So, introduce us,” the woman named Joann says.

Robin introduces her like this: “This is Nancy. Her and Steve are now separated because, well, you tell them…”

She chokes on her own spit which seems to be a new, very specific habit that's forming. The idea of telling Steve ate her up for months. She hadn’t even told Robin, it was her husband who told her. Now, she’s expected to just blurt it out in front of a group of women she’s never met?

Now or never, she thinks.

“Well,” she looks back at Robin because that’s gonna have to be her lifeline, “I’m gay.”

“So, go easy on her,” Robin says as a very quick follow up, looking down at her with a smile, “Show her a good time but not too good of a time, if you know what I mean.”

She feels Robin’s arm drape across her shoulders and a hand settle where the joint is that connects her arm to her shoulder.  The woman squeezes the appendage in her grap in seeming silent support. She expects the woman to pull her hand away, but it doesn’t. It stays and holds her up, like Robin understands she needs that silent support.

Robin then introduces all of the gay friends that Nancy never knew existed.

Throughout the night, she makes her own observations and tacks those on.

There’s Joann, a redhead who wears pant suits and owns them. She’s an accountant. She doesn’t really flirt with Nancy at all. She’s so beautiful though, so Nancy wouldn’t hate it.

There’s Kelly, a blonde who is quite cynical. She was engaged to a man just a few years ago and is very insightful on how they handled it. Although, their lives weren’t as entwined and she moved to Hawkins shortly after the breakup.

There’s Susan, a dark haired doctor. She drinks beer and plays darts because she has steady hands. She does flirt with Nancy but Robin warns her when they go to the bathroom that it never goes anywhere. She dips out first, claiming an early morning ER shift.

There’s Michelle, who has long black hair that Joann runs her hands through every once in a while. It’s hard not to because the hair is so enticing to touch - long and straight and perfect. She owns the metaphysical store in the heart of downtown  And she's a few years younger than them.

There’s Valerie who flirts with Robin half of the night and doesn’t make her jealous at all. Valerie with her brunette hair and brown eyes that reminds Nancy of Steve. Valerie who can’t get Robin to stray that hand too far from Nancy in silent support.

And, there’s Julie, who seems to have every woman in the bar interested but pays no attention to anyone or anything because she’s too busy having a good time with her friends. She’s a fantastic conversationalist and she smiles when she listens. She takes interest in Nancy’s story and responds kindly. She seems like the kind of person she could go shopping with and have the best time.  Which is something she probably hasn't had since Barb.

Everyone fizzles out though. Not necessarily quickly, but surely. She doesn’t find out too much about anyone and she doesn’t really get to flirt back, too closed off after being married for 5 years. It still feels wrong to respond to advances, even from a woman. It feels especially complicated with Robin standing next to her, elbows touching on the table.

That’s what this all is, complicated.

Still, she drops Robin off and goes home to her bed, curling up in the blankets and letting them swallow her whole.

🌈

The next time she goes out with Robin is 2 weeks later. She sees Robin, of course. Robin comes over for dinner a few times. Her visits during the week are becoming more frequent and she thinks it might be to ease the potential tension in the house before it even starts.

Everyone feels happy and carefree when Robin is around, including the kids. She stays for the appropriate amount of time until it’s time for the kids to get ready for bed. Robin leaves and, after Delilah and Caleb have gone to sleep, they each go to their bedrooms.

She’s thinking about getting a television so she can watch the news.

That Saturday night that her and Robin do go back to the bar, they plan on dinner first. So, she shows up to Robin’s apartment in a skirt and a purple button up in an attempt to mimic Robin's attire the last time they went out. As Robin opens the door, she realizes that their outfits don’t compliment each other in any way, shape or form this time. Robin is wearing burnt orange slacks and a burnt orange overcoat with a white shirt beneath it. Robin has always been brave when it comes to her attire.

“What smells good?” She asks, stepping inside as Robin turns on her heel and leaves the door open.

“Dinner,” Robin replies.

“I thought we were going out,” she says, closing the front door. She takes off her jean jacket and hangs it over the back of the couch. The smell leads her into the kitchen, almost salivating due to scent alone.

“Yeah, but,” Robin pauses.

The other woman blows on a spoon, the heat rising off of it in the form of steam. It’s perched so nicely between Robin’s fingers that she’s taken off guard when the spoon is lifted to her lips. She freezes before she parts her lips enough for the woman to give her a taste. They hold eye contact throughout the entire moment and, when she melts, Robin grins.

She’s pretty sure that Robin can’t tell that she isn’t melting because of the taste.

“Good, right?” Robin asks, pulling the spoon out of her mouth.

She watches the woman’s throat bob when she swallows, the entire thing constricting beneath her gaze. They’re standing close together, close enough that nothing seems to make sense. She can only nod in response, lifting her fingers to her mouth and rubbing at whatever remnants there may be.

“Whoa, Wheeler, you’re going to smear your lipstick,” Robin says, catching her hand before she can do any real damage, “Gotta keep it fresh for the ladies.”

“I can reapply, silly,” she retorts.

Robin grins a brilliant sort of thing that once again renders her speechless. She might be taking complicated to the next level. Not only is Robin her husband’s (Why is there no movement on that front? She asks herself) best friend but, as she found out 2 weeks ago, they are also best friends.

“The friends missed you last week,” Robin says in a playful tone. She leans back against the counter next to where Robin is cooking, pressing her palms against the top of it. She snorts because that sounds silly considering they just met. “A lot of them want to kiss you.”

“I’m not fucking your friends,” she immediately replies.

“Such a potty mouth, Wheeler,” Robin teases.

“It just seems uncouth,” she counters.

“Everybody fucks,” Robin says.

It gives her an image. One that makes her heart race. It feels like her heart is beating all over her body, from throat to toes. Every nerve ending feels on fire.

“And you?” She asks, words strained.

“Sure,” Robin says, “I’ve fucked before.”

“Well, I don’t want to,” she says, face feeling warm.

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to fuck me,” Robin says, smirking through her joke.

“Oh,” she says, laughing uncomfortably.

“I’m just saying,” Robin says, “Wouldn’t hurt to try. Doesn’t have to be one of my friends, but they are options.”

“You’d be cool with that?” Nancy says.

“I was cool with you fucking Steve, wasn’t I?” Robin teases.

She rolls her eyes and practically runs away from the topic, unable to stand the visuals of Robin fucking each and every one of her friends. It’s something she decides to watch for while at the bar later, to see if Robin takes an interest in anyone in particular. She’s never exactly been able to keep things from Nancy - so obvious for her observant little eye.

So, when they enter the bar, Robin’s hand somehow gravitating to the small of her back as they move, she watches for any disapproving reactions. There aren’t any. From anyone.

“Brought you something,” Robin announces to the table.

Julie gets up from her seat and throws both arms around Nancy’s neck in a warm welcome and she, once again, thinks about going shopping together because her enthusiasm is contagious. She would say the mall, but after Starcourt, she tries to avoid those all together. As soon as Julie scoots that chair over, Robin’s arm slides across her shoulders and she can’t help but wonder if the woman is being a little protective. Especially after the confession regarding her friends before dinner.

She smiles as Kelly hands her a beer, much less cynical than 2 weeks ago, and she twists it in her hands as she leans against the table. Robin leans right alongside her, elbows touching, and her annoyance bubbles. The last thing she needs is to be protective and Robin should know that better than anyone.

She doesn’t notice anyone looking at Robin any certain way so, if Robin has had sex with one of her friends, Nancy can’t tell which. That certainly means the Robin from 8 years ago no longer exists where it comes to women. Twenty-two year old Robin would have been all emotion.

Halfway into her beer, she slides her drink in front of Robin and heads to the bathroom. There’s a line, just as she remembers there being in every bar at college, so she gets into it. The wait seems excruciatingly long, especially being by herself

But she isn’t by herself for long.

Before she knows it, Robin’s friend Susan is slipping into line behind her, cutting in front of a few people and proclaiming that Nancy is her friend. She’s just happy not to be alone anymore so she doesn’t protest. She smiles at Susan gratefully, and turns to lean against the wall to welcome the company to wait with.

“You should be careful going to the bathroom by yourself,” Susan says.

“Why is that?” She asks, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Someone is bound to hit on you,” Susan replies, pressing a hand against the wall, holding herself steady, “Unless that’s what you’re aiming for.”

She tilts her chin down because Susan is pretty. She’s almost as tall as Robin. Has a smooth sounding voice. She wears the right amount of makeup for her face. And the clothes she wears fit her just right. In the two times they’ve met anyway. The woman has on a brown floor length skirt now, a white button up shirt with a brown vest over it, and a pair of black boots that probably make her taller.

“I’m good with either,” she says.

“So, Nancy,” Susan says, a silky tone that’s she’s probably practiced edging into her ears, “Have you ever…”

Susan doesn’t finish the sentence for some reason, despite all of her confidence. It almost makes her look more attainable. Like her lack of follow through has less to do with the sea and more to do with the fish.

“Been with a doctor?” She says, getting a small laugh out of the other woman, “No.”

“Robin says you work for the newspaper,” Susan says after just a beat.

“Robin is mostly correct,” she says.

“Mostly?” Susan asks, eyebrow raising on her forehead.

“I’m actually the editor,” she says, bragging a little bit.

“Oh, you are?” Susan says, to which she nods slowly.

They stare at each other, eyes locked until the line moves in front of them. She thinks about the last time she kissed someone for the first time. It’s been since that night in Chicago. Before that, it was Jonathan. Before that, Steve.

“You said that you’re separated,” Susan says, “But your husband, he knows?”

“I’ve told him everything,” she replies.

“So it isn’t because there’s anyone else?” Susan says.

“Nope,” she replies.

Susan’s eyes flit in the darkness and she says, “So if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

“That would,” she pauses, pushing away the rattling in her stomach and deciding to just leap, “That would be ok.”

Susan lifts a hand to her hair in response and brushes it off of her face. She thinks it’s unfair that a woman who uses her steady hands to work all day, hands that save lives, can be so soft against her cheek. And, when Susan leans in, there are cheers from behind them that almost throw her so out of the moment that she squeezes her eyes shut tight. She almost misses the feeling of the woman’s smooth, moisturized lips against hers and the way she almost melts into the wall.

It’s all so nice except, she does really have to pee.

When Susan pulls back, all she can think to say is, “I’m next.”

“What?” Susan says, seemingly a little dazed.

“For the bathroom,” she replies, motioning towards the door.

Before anything else is said between them, the door opens and she slips out from the space between the wall and the woman. She hurries inside and closes the one person bathroom, locking it. She breathes in the mirror for 30 seconds before the need to use the bathroom clouds every other thought in her brain.

After washing her hands, she opens the door and slips out to let the next person in line use it. The door closes hard behind her but it doesn’t deter her from spotting Susan at the end of the bathroom hallway. The woman is in a heated discussion. With Robin.

She narrows her gaze on the two woman before she charges right over to get herself involved. She’s never really been the best at minding her own business. But something tells her that this is 100% about her.

She catches the tail end of: “I told you last week not to fuck with her.”

“Hey,” she interjects quite loudly, “Robin, stop.”

“Stop?” Her friend says, taking a half step back like she just got sucker punched, “What did you tell me earlier? And now you’re telling me to stop?”

“I know,” she says softly, then louder, “I know, but maybe it needed to happen.”

“Fine,” Robin says, throwing up her hands, “You’re an adult. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

And her friend walks off, to leave her standing there. This is reminding her so much of Chicago that she feels like she’s living it all over again. She can’t chase Robin down this time. Especially when this is ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” she tells Susan, “We’re all getting used to it no longer being me and Steve. I guess Robin is just getting used to it too.”

“Do you think so?” Susan says.

“I think talking about it and seeing it are two different things,” she says, “She’ll get over it.”

Susan sighs, checks her watch; and drags her hands through her hair, before she says, “I really have to head out. Will you be here next week?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she admits.

“I hope so,” Susan replies.

The woman leans forward and presses a kiss against her cheek, fleeting and polite. She wonders how much of their argument was about her or if that was Robin being jealous. Yet, she watches the woman walk away before returning to the table.

The table feels tense and it’s most likely because Robin is seething. She feels a need to talk her friend down but she doesn’t want to make it a group thing. Especially in front of people she’s only met twice. So, she smiles sheepishly and chugs the rest of her beer. Silently, she asks anyone if they want another and when they shake their head uncomfortably she goes to the bar.

She would rather leave.

The bartender hasn’t even noticed her when someone saddles in beside her uncomfortably close. She turns to glance and is relieved to see that it’s Robin. Who is motioning at the bartender with her long arm high in the air.

Robin lowers her arm and says, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I reacted that way.”

“Seeing is believing, right?” She replies, “I know it’s hard to picture me kissing anyone other than Steve, but-“

“It’s not that,” Robin interjects, “I mean, maybe a little that. But it’s mostly me being in protective mode.”

“I can protect myself,” she says, “You know that better than anyone.”

“I know you can protect yourself from monsters and all of that shit,” Robin says, low and quiet as she leans into her ear, “But I’ve lived my entire life in fear in a way that most people can’t understand. And I don’t want you to be as afraid. I don’t want the wrong person spreading shit all over town when…”

“Robs,” she says softly, hearing the woman go quiet.

She turns her head and finds herself tucked into the woman’s neck. She slides her arms around Robin’s waist on instinct, wrapping her up in a tight hug. Robin hugs her back, arms wound around her shoulders and holding her close. She feels a warm wetness against her collar and it melts any frustration towards her friend that she has.

After the grip on her loosens, she pulls back. Her hands stay on Robin’s hips as she looks up into those blue eyes. They are oceans of warmth, even in their sadness.

“We have each other, right?” She says, “Through everything we’ve had each other. I’ve got your back. Plus, I’ve got a gun.”

Robin laughs, a tear sliding down her cheek, and she says, “Best shot in town.”

Then shots are being set down in front of them because someone heard them say shots. They’re downing them in one go, leaving all of the fears of society behind. It’s what she has to do if she wants to be herself.

🌈

On Monday, she drops the kids off at school and goes to work feeling slightly rejuvenated as a person. It isn’t because Susan kissed her. It’s because Steve is no longer the last person that she kissed.

If she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t plan on kissing Susan again. It’s already complicated enough with those sparks she feels with Robin, her husband’s best friend. Adding in the layer of complication by continuing to kiss Robin’s friends is just a tangled web she feels like she could get caught in and never escape.

All of that is forgotten when she walks in to a message on her desk with Susan’s name. It gets lost and forgotten because it gets incredibly busy in the room. Everything is so hectic that she’s there late and doesn’t get home until it’s time to put the kids to bed.

She feels bad about it and profusely apologizes to Delilah as she tucks her in, kissing her goodnight. The little girl shrugs and tells her it’s ok. She reads to Delilah until her daughter falls asleep and doesn’t even hear Nancy leaving.

She grabs Caleb from his room and guides him to the bathroom to get into the bath. She starts the water and they go through the normal routine until she gets him into it. Steve normally does this part, but she feels guilty for missing dinner.

And also, maybe, for kissing someone.

She feels like she has a big secret from Steve and she doesn’t know if that’s the sort of thing she’s supposed to tell him. She doesn’t feel like she should. She feels like it should stay in the bar. It’s a little more complicated because Robin was there. She isn’t sure if Robin will tell him.

She gets her son cleaned up and into bed. He falls asleep more quickly than Delilah. He’s always been a good sleeper. She kisses his forehead, tucks the blankets in around him, and goes downstairs. Steve isn’t in the living room so she goes ahead and goes to her bedroom.

She skips dinner.

The next day is less busy at work. She’s finally able to return the phone call. She dials the number but gets the answering machine. She leaves a message and hangs up.

She feels awkward leaving a message. They only have one phone at home so if Susan doesn’t call her during business hours they will just keep missing each other. It would feel even more awkward to receive a message that a woman left with her husband.

Her wedding ring is still buried deep in her purse. She doesn’t plan on wearing it anymore, despite the fact that Steve still hasn’t taken his off yet. She understands why it might still be there, although she hopes that it's because he just hasn’t thought about its presence.

Thankfully, around lunch, the front desk administrator’s voice comes through the speaker on her phone announcing that she has a call.

With a steady breath, she picks up the phone and says, “This is Nancy.”

“Nancy, hi. It’s Susan,” the woman says, “Sorry I missed you yesterday.”

“It was sort of hectic,” she says, “Lots of breaking news.”

“I saw that. And for a Monday,” Susan says, “So, I want to get together and talk sometime this week.”

“Sure,” she says, “Can I check my schedule and get back to you?”

“I’m free Thursday night and Saturday night,” Susan replies.

She stiffens at the idea of Saturday night being spent with someone else. Even though this routine of hanging out on Saturday night is sort of a new development, she does enjoy getting that time with Robin. Although she may have kissed Susan in the dark hallway of a bar, it’s Robin that she whole-heartedly trusts.

“I’ll see if I can get free Thursday,” she says.

“Enzo’s at seven,” Susan says in that expectant tone.

Luckily, Steve doesn’t ask her too many questions. She is feeling a little terrible that she’s getting these nights out while Steve stays home with the kids. He hasn’t yet expressed going out for an evening. Not that he has a lot of friends that he spends any time with outside of Robin. It could be nice to encourage him to get together with Dustin.

She shows up at Enzo’s at 7:02 just to not be too eager. For some reason, she doesn’t even register that this may be a date until she’s sitting in her Subaru in the parking lot. The two minutes it takes for her to get inside is because of her impromptu freak out session while Natalie Imbruglia plays over the radio.

Susan sits there with a glass of water in front of her, staring down at the menu with a hand curled under her chin. And, of course, she looks beautiful with her hair tied in a bun behind her head and her shirt cut low on her chest. It’s becoming increasingly obvious to Nancy that she is, in fact, really a lesbian in case there was any doubt in her mind.

(There wasn’t.)

She makes her way over to the table, light enough on her feet that when does make it there Susan twitches at her abrupt arrival. When the woman looks up, she smiles and stands up, like she’s trying to welcome Nancy to the table. That’s never really happened to her before. Not that she’s actually dated all that much.

“Nancy, hi,” Susan says.

It’s interesting how Susan always says her name before saying hi, like the greeting is just for her and intended for no one else. Of course, Nancy doesn’t really know this woman from outside their few meetings and what Robin has told her, but it is a kind gesture. She feels the complication written in the air between them.

“Hi,” she replies, setting her purse down on the floor beneath her chair. She sits and scoots the chair forward. She hopes that Susan will sit too and not feel the need to be so chivalrous. She would like to do things for herself because she can.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Susan says, sitting back down across from her, “The lighting here is way better then the bar.”

“So much,” she absently agrees, despite the lights being down really low for all of those romantic pairings across the establishment, “Have you been here?”

“Oh, sure,” Susan replies, “Was once the only restaurant in town.”

For a moment, she wonders how old Susan is and how long she’s lived here. She’s lived here for her entire life and thought she either knew everyone or of everyone. There was a parade of people that moved in when she went to Chicago for college, and most of the rebuilding happened when she moved back. So probably in that 4 year gap.

“That was years ago,” she muses, “When we were in high school we got a mall. Robin and Steve worked there until it caught on fire.”

“That sounds traumatic,” Susan says.

“You have no idea,” Nancy says, smiling tightly because she just can’t get into it, “We’re all through it now.”

“I see that,” Susan says. She looks over the menu like she doesn’t know it already. Lots of takeout orders have made it to her kitchen. They didn’t eat in the restaurant much but they have eaten here frequently. “I moved here after the hospital was rebuilt in eighty-nine. It was my first year after fellowship.”

She doesn’t know much about how to become a doctor, but she’s pretty sure it takes a lot of time and effort. She could ask a follow up question. She’s good at that sort of thing. But she decides to keep it out of reporting territory and in a casual setting.

“Did you move here to work at our hospital?” She asks.

“Opportunities were endless,” Susan says, “I could do whatever I wanted there with so many open positions.”

“We did thin out after our disaster in eighty-six,” she says.

“How did you meet your husband?” Susan asks, getting into it already.

No easing in, apparently.

“We dated in high school. He was really popular and I was fifteen. But we weren’t on the same page so we broke up,” she says, “Stayed that way until I moved back from Chicago after college.”

“What made you,” Susan pauses like she’s considering the wording of the question, “Reunite then?”

“I think,” she looks down for just a moment to gather her bearings, “I was in the middle of a crisis and I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. Being together put a temporary band aid on the need to face anything at all about myself, and we were all really close. Then I got pregnant so that became the focus.”

“You’re a mom?” Susan asks, seemingly surprised. Most people are due to her thin waist. Not even having children could make her plump up.

“To two very sweet children,” she says.

“That’s wonderful,” Susan says, an excited lift to her voice, “I always wanted children but it was never going to happen for me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, face twisting into sympathy.

“It’s ok,” Susan says, “It’s just the way it is.”

“It’s still shitty,” she says, a huff coming out like it’s something she’s really passionate about. Maybe she could make real changes one day. Maybe the little Hawkins Post will make waves across the nation by publishing its support for gay rights. Robin would love that.

“Listen,” Susan says, gaze dropping, “That argument I had with Robin at the bar. I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

“She was just being protective,” Nancy says, “We’ve been protective a lot over the years. It’s sort of a habit of ours.”

“Are you sure there aren’t any feelings there?” Susan asks.

“Between me and Robin?” She says, scoffing along with it. Susan looks at her, tilting her head just a little. She doesn’t seem to be judging Nancy and she doesn’t seem to doubt her reaction. It seems like she just wants to know the answer. “I think that if we ever went there, there would be no turning back, and I’m not sure that I’m ready for something so final right now.”

“Final,” Susan muses, “What do you mean by that?”

“Like, once it starts, there’s no end,” she replies.

“And Robin would be?” Susan asks.

“Robin would,” Nancy starts, looks down and thinks of Robin fondly, “Robin would be someone so important that if I went there we couldn’t take it back. It would affect her friendship with Steve, would change my relationship with him. It would have to be a romance for the ages.”

“You never actually answered the question,” Susan says, smirking a little.

“Not now, but not never,” Nancy says, “Is the answer to your question.”

“Something’s there?” Susan says.

“Maybe,” she says, forgetting the sparks every time they touch, the ones that have always been there but never a prominent feature of their relationship, “But nothing worth risking it all over.”

“So you’ll go out with me again?” Susan asks.

“Depends,” she replies.

“On?” Susan says.

“Your story with Robin,” she says, thinking about that extra complicated layer.

“We met. We were hooking up with the same woman. We dumped her. Became friends,” Susan says, simple and to the point.

“And nothing has happened there?” She says.

“Maybe once. Not really worth talking about,” Susan says, “But that’s the culture. We’re all entwined in some way around here.”

She doesn’t understand this culture, but she has a feeling that she will someday soon.

🌈

The culture of being gay weighs on her mind until she goes over to Robin’s house Saturday evening. She’s expecting to go out for dinner but, once again, Robin surprises her with those fantastic cooking skills. She thinks about dinner with Susan and how it did end up to be just talking over dinner. She got a little more insight to Robin but she tried to steer away from the topic.  Just to keep her thoughts from straying on the woman before her.

She sits across from Robin at her little two person table, slice of lasagna on a light blue plate in front of her. It took years of nagging to get Robin to upgrade from mismatched plates and utensils, not to mention Christmas gifts, for the entire kitchen to look like an adult lived there. Robin had smiled and said, Thank you, Nance, in that gentle tone Robin seemed to only use with her.

For about a week after Robin came out to her, she thought that maybe it was the woman’s subtle way of telling her that there were feelings involved. The week of consideration came to an abrupt end when Steve confessed his feelings for her while the 3 of them went bowling. With one look at Robin, she knew the blonde would never act on those feelings if they even existed.

Looking across the table at Robin now, she wonders the same thing.

Would Robin ever act on those feelings if they existed because of Steve? Should she ever let that guard down and let herself have feelings? Or would it hurt Steve too much?

If they never actually go there, what is the point of her watching Robin’s fingers as she perches the fork between them?

If they never actually go there, what’s the point of watching the way Robin’s mouth moves when she chews?

Then stands the question…

If she does, in fact, have feelings for Robin - should she tell Steve first to see what he says? Should she not tell him at all? Would Robin even return those feelings?